


smoke and riches

by luvbot



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Canon, messing with the idea of giving him a little more personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvbot/pseuds/luvbot
Summary: After the war, Conrad became a wandering knight.Some called it cowardice, accused him of avoiding his role as Zofian royalty and yielding all responsibility out of fear, and others said he was just finding his place in the world.But - looking back on his decision to turn his back on the kingdom, and what led up to it…(Conrad thinks it was cowardice, too.)
Kudos: 6





	smoke and riches

After the war, Conrad became a wandering knight.

Some called it cowardice, accused him of avoiding his role as Zofian royalty and yielding all responsibility out of fear, and others said he was just finding his place in the world.

But - looking back on his decision to turn his back on the kingdom, and what led up to it...

(Conrad thinks it was cowardice, too.)

It’s all for the sake of chasing what is left of his younger self - he often daydreamed of growing into the role of a brave knight of legend, adorned in shimmering armor of white, becoming a hero among villages near and far.

Someone that they could rely on, that they would lay to rest in the gold-glazed grip of history.

Though he finds the road to glory getting lonelier and lonelier the farther he is from home.

...home?

Is the castle truly _home_ to him?

(Home is wherever Anthiese is, he decides. She’s the only sense of familiarity he has - and he left her at the castle.)

He just isn’t ready to assume his position yet - he prays she understands.

He’s unused to being in the presence of _royalty._

(The word tastes of smoke and ill-earned riches on his tongue.)

...

He’s surrounded by bandits, but it doesn’t faze him. It never does.

He’s just doing his job.

(It’s not really his job, but that’s besides the point. He’s doing a _service.)_

These days, he wishes for a _challenge_. He misses the thrum of adrenaline in his veins, the nervous sweat under his gloves-

Hmm.

Perhaps he’s been spoiled by his last _real_ fight; nothing could quite top a duel with a maddened Fell God, after all. Not _truly._

If he hadn’t still a shred of dignity, maybe he’d turn to petty bar fights for that rush he so craves. Maybe they’d give him what he needs.

 _Or,_ maybe he’d just get banned from every tavern in the One Kingdom and sully his reputation while he's at it.

...what’s happened to warp him so? He was never so… _battle-hungry._

(Maybe his relation to the Empire, to the _War Father_ , is finally surfacing to haunt him.)

He can’t think about that now; he has ruffians to make quick work of.

They’ve been terrorizing the local villagers for _far_ too long, making brazen attempts to steal away maidens in the night - or in broad daylight, depending on just _how_ brazen they're feeling - and making away with what provisions they can, simply _because_ they can.

Such is the life of a bandit, he supposes.

With a deft swing of his lance, he lunges to finish what he started.

He misses.

_(...he misses?)_

He’s so taken aback by his mistake, head spinning with questions doubting his own experience _(he’s supposed to be good at this, what’s going on, what’s_ **_wrong_** _),_ that he doesn’t notice the axe coming his way until it hits.

(A disgusting crack fills the air. There’s a ringing in his ears.)

His mask splits. A searing pain like molten copper scorches his face, beginning above his eye and crossing the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his cheek. There’s blood trapped in his eyes and air caught in his throat.

Ah.

_There it is._

_This_ is what he’s been missing.

He adjusts himself atop his steed, weapon in his grip steadfast and poised to strike once more.

If he can’t find a _real_ challenge…

Perhaps a handicap will suffice.

(He dutifully ignores the shaking of his lance, the whirling of the world around him, the lightness of his body - those are issues he'll address later.)

**Author's Note:**

> so im thinking about echoes now
> 
> i'd feel bad that i know everything i write for it will for sure have conrad in it but honestly he needs more content and i'm happy to deliver
> 
> i haven't quite finished the game yet so forgive me if anything's off!


End file.
